


Three Isn't Binary

by Parksborn



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blackrom, Blood, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Captorcest - Freeform, Illnesses, M/M, Minor Kismesissitude, Quadrant Confusion, Quadrant Vacillation, Sneezing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2014-10-11
Packaged: 2018-02-19 23:04:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2406167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Parksborn/pseuds/Parksborn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This started out as something that wasn't serious at all, and meant only for the forum. However, since it was pretty well received despite it being relatively poor, I decided to continue to post it, and also to put it up here. </p>
<p>So here you are. </p>
<p>And here's the warnings for this chapter, copy/pasted straight from the original post, since it's two AM and I'm all kinds of sleepy:</p>
<p>"I tried to incorporate bits of Sollux's duality in here, including conflicting feelings for some characters/situations, and also that he always sneezes in doubles. Always. So if you happen to see one part that directly contradicts another, that's probably why. Also--the trolls are, of course, unreliable and biased narrorators. So there's some discussion of depression, bipolar disorder, and vague self harm/suicide references (nothing too triggering, I don't believe?) in which the narrorators' opinions don't reflect the author's, so I think that should be taken into consideration while reading this. That said, it's pretty ableist, so that's also a warning that should be heeded."</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as something that wasn't serious at all, and meant only for the forum. However, since it was pretty well received despite it being relatively poor, I decided to continue to post it, and also to put it up here. 
> 
> So here you are. 
> 
> And here's the warnings for this chapter, copy/pasted straight from the original post, since it's two AM and I'm all kinds of sleepy:
> 
> "I tried to incorporate bits of Sollux's duality in here, including conflicting feelings for some characters/situations, and also that he always sneezes in doubles. Always. So if you happen to see one part that directly contradicts another, that's probably why. Also--the trolls are, of course, unreliable and biased narrorators. So there's some discussion of depression, bipolar disorder, and vague self harm/suicide references (nothing too triggering, I don't believe?) in which the narrorators' opinions don't reflect the author's, so I think that should be taken into consideration while reading this. That said, it's pretty ableist, so that's also a warning that should be heeded."

It's not that you're not going to sleep because Psiioniic told you to, or because Mituna has been giving you this _look_ every time you've so much as sniffled over the past two days. (Psiioniic has insisted that you've been doing this quite a lot, and should probably take it easy. He's even urged you to take a mid waking cycle nap in your recuperacoon instead of nodding off at your husktop. You don't, and haven't any of the times he's tried to say something, more often telling him to, 'Fuck right off,' or that you're, 'Buthy coding, why can't he thee that.') No, actually, it's because you truly are immersed in a new project right now, even if your eyes are kind of blurring and you're getting so tired that it almost feels challenging to breathe. (Again, Psiioniic pushes that it's illness causing the stuffiness in your lungs and the tightness in between your temples, and not any other half assed explanation you've come up with because _you are not sick_. In fact, you are so not sick that you've almost finished this block of coding completely, without flaw, so Mituna can take his pitystares and go lollygag into the green sun for all you care, and Psiioniic can go ride somebody else's bifurcated bulge for once.)  
  
You tell Psiioniic that you'll sleep when you're finished. He presses with, "It's been _days_ , Sollux." (His concern is actually beginning to irritate you beyond reason, and your pan isn't actually quite clear enough to decide whether it's the headache (caused by the glow of your computer screen, not any other ailment, thank you, Nurse Psiionic), or the 'incessant fucking mood swings' that Karkat tells you that you have.)  
  
You don't care either way, though, and consciously avoid any relieving agent for the throbbing in your skull to spite Psii. It's just not worth getting his medical kink panties in a twist, see. It's only when you've actually fallen asleep on your husktop keyboard and Mituna finds you that you briefly consider any validity to Psiioniic's bitching over the past few days. Mituna's vaguely distressed noises are what rouse you, and you blearily glance at your screen full of senseless characters before looking over to him. He's holding a deck of cards, and bending them in arches that switch in direction with each flex of his hands.  
  
He doesn't say anything, but keeps up his upset racket. "Biduda, whad the hell are you doi'g," you say, and there's a moment where you allow yourself to grimace and snort back congestion that seems to have taken your head by storm. You still have to wipe at your nose where there's a dark yellow trail of thick mucus that just wouldn't budge with your snuffling. Mituna's noises get louder and obstinately more distressed. You decide that you should placate him, lest your own skull explode. "'Duda, whad'th the badder?" you sigh, pressing the heel of your palm to your forehead. It helps absolutely fuckall, but at least you tried.  
  
"You're-- You didn'th, _didn'th—_ " He makes more upset noises, and actually starts to tear up, and jegus, this should not be your job. It's bullshit, actually, that this has to be your goddamned job. You hate it.  
  
You open your arms, hoping that Mituna's not too worked up that he doesn't want to be touched. However, that doesn't seem to be the case, as he practically tackles you. You comb through his messy hair and sigh. This is nice, and would be actually enjoyable if he wasn't all teary-eyed and you didn't feel like throwing yourself off the roof of your goddamned hive stem. "I'b ogkay," you snuffle.  
  
He lets out a noise that can only be classified as a groaning whimper, all keyed up distress, and you catch a muffled, " _Not_."  
  
You sigh. Okay, fine, whatever. You elect not to say anything and just pet his hair until Psiioniic decides to barge into your respiteblock as well. Fuck, you can't stand either one of these two space-invading assholes. He looks nearly as upset as Mituna is and as you feel, and you just want them both out—you have _things to do_. "'Tuna, come here," he murmurs as he settles a hand on your dancestor's shoulder, and at least you can give him reluctant props for keeping his voice down. After a little bit of goading, Mituna finally releases you, and Psiioniic leaves with him.  
  
He comes back after Mituna is calmed, you presume, and you would roll your eyes if it wouldn't hurt your pan so much. "Whad do you wadt," you snap, snuffling thickly again, and Psiioniic frowns. When his hand comes up to cup your face, you can only register it after the fact, vision and mind too hazy to have processed it in real time. Goddammit.  
  
"You're warm," Psiioniic says, lips pursed together unhappily. You lean away from his touch, and you feel like you're moving through mind honey. Psii clucks his tongue and huffs out a sigh, and then you're actually being lifted up like some fucking wriggler, and you try to push away from him. Fuck this guy. You don't have time for this demeaning crap.  
  
He just holds you closer, and turns around to walk back out of the room. You begrudgingly wrap your legs around his middle, and your arms around his neck to keep yourself from falling. "Whad the fugck do you thigk you're doi'g?" you grumble, and he just rubs a hand up and down your back.  
  
"Medication," he says simply, and you try really hard not to relax into or enjoy the comforting touches he's giving you. Even after you've been such an ass. You don't deserve such comfort. "And then sleep," he amends, and you would argue if your nostrils didn't decide to usurp your concentration and breath.  
  
Fuck. " _Hhiihh—_! _Iihh_..." You free a hand and scrub weakly at your nose, pressing a curled finger to the underside of your nostrils. Please no. Your pan won't be able to survive this. " _Haah_! _Iih_... Thii—" You try to warn, because your rubbing and pressing isn't working. He just pats your back and nods, still making his way through your portion of the communal hive stem. " _Hhhh'KPHTH-shue_! _Haahh—_! _KPTHH'shoo_!"  
  
You can feel the thick, sticky snot coating your finger string out as you try to pull your hand back from your face. You groan, and try furiously to snort it all back up. Psiioniic pops you where his hand is resting on your rear, supporting you, and oh God. What the fuck.  
  
"Don't do that," he says as he settles you on the counter in the bathroom. "You'll get a sinus infection like that," he says, and you're too busy recovering your ass-swatted pride to respond in any other way than more snuffling. Psiioniic shoves a fresh box of tissues into your lap, which you leave unopened in your hands.  
  
"You jusd _thbpadgked_ be," you say, incredulously, and he shakes his head.  
  
"Blow your nose, Sol, I can barely understand you. And it was a swat," he replies, looking at various containers of medications contemplatively, and you don't actually know where they came from, because you sure as all hell didn't own any before.  
  
It's just after Psiioniic says that that he looks up and finds that you've still yet to at least wipe at the mucus trailing down your upper lip from where the line of it had broken from your finger, and the coating of it on said finger. He sighs and takes the tissue box from you and rips it open, taking a tissue and wiping at your nose and finger—like you're an incompetent fucking child, again—before holding up a couple of tissues to your nose. "Blow," he says, and you only comply because this sinus pressure is killing your head. Not because he asked.  
  
It does nothing to help, and makes matters worse.  
  
After Psiioniic deems your thick, gurgly blowing enough, he pinches your nostrils together with the tissue to get the last bit of stringy mess from your nose, even though you feel like you could fill barrels with the amount of snot in you right now. He tosses the tissues and pets down the side of your head, smoothing out your hair. It doesn't stop the back and sides from bouncing back up like he never touched you in the first place, but at least he made an effort.  
  
You're not entirely used to being touched so often, but you actually have to admit that you like this Psiioniic better than the motionless, wordless blank from before. It took a lot of work (that you fucking _regret_ now), but he seems to be back to his old self, or close enough. The Dolorosa and The Signless seem to be happy with his progress, so you can't say that he hasn't at least gotten somewhere close to 'normal' again, even though you don't really know what's normal for him. (Although sometimes he has abnormally bad days and making the wrong kind of noise would make him freeze up and start talking nonsense. Neither you nor Mituna know exactly how to handle a broken Ancestor, so you do your best to placate them both, since when one seems to get riled up, so does the other. But these days come very few and far between now, so you suppose that he is coping well enough.)  
  
Anyway, you don't like to be touched, but find you don't really mind it when it's Psiioniic or Mituna, even though they both bug the hell out of you, and you wouldn't exactly tell them that you enjoy it.  
  
"Here," he says, offering you a small plastic cupful of thick, purple goo. You make a face, and he urges you to take it again. You decide to avoid the conflict for the sake of your own head and down the medicine. It leaves you sputtering and coughing, and Psiioniic pats you gently on the back. "Try not to inhale it next time, Sol," he mutters.  
  
"Go fugck yourthelf, Thii," you snap, snuffling and wiping clumsily at your dripping nose. He sighs and tugs your hand away from your face, placing a few tissues in your palm instead.  
  
"Blow. That's unsanitary," he says, and you briefly consider that he's been spending too much time with Kankri or maybe the Signless again. Jegus help you if he starts spouting off some social justice bullshit.  
"I'll thdeeze od your haughty athth, dod't de'bpt be," you grumble, but do at least swipe the crumpled tissues underneath your nose, catching more dark yellow mucus from streaking down your face.  
  
Psiioniic purses his lips together unhappily. "That's darker than usual, isn't it?" he asks you, running a hand down your back again.  
  
You scoff. "I dod't fugcki'g dow, it'th dod ligke I thid arou'd playi'g with by thnod all day," you grumble, crumpling up the tissues a little more in your palm.  
  
Psiioniic sighs and gives you a look that you think can only be translated into fatherly disappointment, or maybe just severely unimpressed. You sigh as well, sounding more defeated than disappointed, and snuffle some with a shrug. "...Yeah, a bid," you mumble, and he makes another unhappy noise as he scoops you up again—which you're beginning to really fucking _resent_ , the asshole—and takes the medication and tissues as well without any awkward juggling between you and the box and bottle, thanks to his own psionics.  
  
He takes you to the couch and brings the blanket down from the back of it, tucking it around you. You try not to melt into the warmth you didn't know you were missing. He pats your shoulder as you sink into the corner of your couch. He goes into the kitchen and starts to sound like he might be making something to eat, and you can only hope it's not for you. You're really not in the mood for soup, or any more goddamn coddling, for that matter.  
  
Your nose takes the time alone to want to dump its contents down your front, and nearly kind of succeeds when the incessant snuffling you're doing triggers a tickle in your sinuses. Fuck. " _Huuh—_! _Hup'THIIEW_! _HiishthUE_!" You catch them with cupped hands, spattering the palms of both with saliva and snot. You whimper when your nose doesn't seem to let up enough for you to even attempt to clean yourself up. " _Heh—_! _HesshIIEW_! _HuhPHTIIEW_!" You pause, head tilted back some, caught in the dazed state between another set of sneezes. In the space between your nose and your hands, more thick, dark mucus strings out, and yeah, you're pretty sure you're just beginning a fucking pool of snot in your palms. Said pool is constructed poorly, apparently, because it's kind of slipping through your fingers. Oh man. " _HusshGKTHIIUE_! _KPHTH'OO_!"  
  
Psiioniic peeks his head back into the livingroom. "Are you okay?" he asks, and his face crumples into more demeaning pity, just like fucking Mituna. "Do you need help cleaning up--?" he asks tentatively.  
  
"You ebed thigk aboud cobi'g dear by bpool ob thdod add I'll thbear id all ober you," you threaten, and he takes the hint. For once.  
  
You're actually not entirely sure how to go about cleaning yourself up without dropping all of the mess cradled in your hands. You decide it's best to stumble back to the bathroom after a near-disastrous entanglement in the blanket covering you. You get yourself cleaned up with minimal slimy mess, aside from the sink knob you had to sacrifice. You, at least, clean up after yourself, washing the mess down the sink and wiping everything down afterwards.  
  
When you shuffle back into the livingroom and collapse onto the couch, Mituna is sitting on the other end. "Sor-rry," he mumbles with broken, choppy speech that he tries hard to keep intelligible, and that kind of hurts your pusher, because you hate to see him struggle like that, although you're not sure what he's apologizing for.  
  
You sigh and nod anyways, grabbing a couple of tissues and blowing as gently as you can into them, although it doesn't stop the cringeworthy sounds that gurgle from your nose. Ugh.  
  
Mituna peers over at you with that look again, before crawling over on the couch and ensnaring you in his arms, gathering you and the blanket into his lap. You hiss. "Ged off'a be, you heathed," you argue, but all he does is shift you into a more comfortable position, and take your previous one leaning up against the arm of the couch, arms still wrapped around you.  
  
You slump and accept your fate. You're going to be coddled to death. This is how you die.  
  
On the other hand, Mituna is incredibly warm and comforting, and you can't help but relax into his hold after a while, eyes fluttering shut. At least he wasn't freaking out anymore. He's better like this.  
  
You're also glad that Psiioniic didn't order you into your recuperacoon, because breathing itself is hard enough right now, let alone being immersed in sopor slime. Your sinus headache thanks him quietly as you doze off, cheek pressed against Mituna's chest, slumped over with your legs bracketing his sides. He scoots down a little, levering less upright so that you could properly use him as a sickbed, face tucked into the crook of his neck and middle flattened more comfortably against him.  
  
You don't wake again until you feel a cool hand on the back of your neck. You grumble and turn away from the darkness of where you'd tucked your face and peer blearily at what you would assume is Psiioniic standing over you. Although, everything's really bright and hurts your head and sends pinpricks to your overstuffed sinuses, so it could just as well be death here to cart your sorry ass away. "Sorry, just wanted to check your temperature," you hear the blurry figure murmur softly, and that's definitely Psii, but your nose and sinuses are too upset right now to give him any response.  
  
You bring a hand up to your nose as your nostrils twitch and rub, eyes falling shut again, and realize that you'd kind of been dripping on Mituna as you slept, mess already having slipped from your nostrils in your sleep. " _Hheeh_! _Hhh'KIITHHshoo_! _Hiih_! _Hephth'HUE_!" You groan and pull back from where you'd snapped forwards without covering, only to realize that you'd sneezed all over Mituna's shoulder. It's like your body thinks he's a goddamned tissue. "Oh by god, 'Duda, I'b tho thorry--"  
  
He shooshes you, and takes an offered tissue from Psiioniic, wiping away some of the mess from the shoulder of his shirt, before grabbing another and wiping at your nose, folding the tissue around your nostrils. Just like fucking Psiioniic, you can't believe your Dancestor is in on this bullshit nursemaid crap too.  
  
You blow for him anyhow, but more to appease your overflowing sinuses than to please him. There's one hand petting down your back, and another smoothing over your hair, and you kind of want to purr, even if you do feel like shit. "How are you...?" Psiioniic asks, and you're not even close to up for snarling back at him, so you tell the truth.  
  
"Derrible," you grumble, hiding your face back into Mituna's neck. There's more touching that you assume would be the both of them hellbent on smothering you, except you don't feel particularly smothered right now. That's really relieving, actually, because any more problems breathing would put you six hooves under. You reach out blindly to Psiioniic and tug at his clothing. His hovering is getting on your nerves. He can either join the Captor pile or go fuck a stethoscope, you don't actually care at this point.  
  
He joins the pile up on the couch, Mituna shifting some to accommodate him. He moves down and onto his side, taking you with him, and Psiioniic slots himself in behind you, arm wrapped around your middle. You snuffle and, thankfully, neither one of them insist you blow again.  
  
Or at least, they don't until you wake up again. Psiioniic detaches himself from the group when you rouse, saying something about food, and running his fingers through your hair before he leaves. Mituna is back at the whole caretaking thing, and actually gets a thermometer underneath your tongue. You fucking hate them both. "If you thigk ady ob thith ith godda bagke be wadt do dagke either ob your bulgeth doborrow, you're dead wro'g," you lisp after Mituna confirms that you still have a fever.  
  
Mituna looks vaguely hurt. "We jus' wa-anth to take care of y... You," he manages, continents clipped and vowels broken, but sincere nonetheless. Your chest seizes up yet again because you hate to hear him struggle, even if it's expected by now, and your expression softens at his tone. Goddammit, Mituna, why couldn't he have been less likable. Or cute.  
  
"...Thorry," you say, leaning in and pressing your forehead back to his chest. He rests his chin on top of your head, avoiding your horns. "Thagkth..."  
  
"Yeah," he breathes, tugging you a little closer. "You're we-elll... ElckksdFFFJKUGH! FFUCK!" He pulls a hand away from you and punches himself in the thigh, once, twice, before you catch his wrist and hold it in place.  
  
"Hey dow," you say. "It'th ogkay, I ged id, Biduda." You give him a sleepy smile, reassuring and fond. You try to ignore the freshly resurfaced pain throbbing through your pan, smiling through it. For 'Tuna.  
  
He scrunches his shoulders up like he's trying to make himself small, and ducks his head. "So-orry," he mumbles, and you can see the guilt parking on his face. Now it's your turn to give the pitylook, and you decide he's much better at it. It feels weird on your face, but it smooths out Mituna's, along with the touch of your hand to his face. He worries his lip between his teeth, and you thumb it away from his grip. He's got faint scars around his bottom lip where he's bit down too hard (and didn't let up) and the last thing you want to see is a new, self inflicted wound there.  
  
"Dod't be. Dod your ffahh... Fauld," you say, nostrils twitching again. Mituna's wild hair is sort of brushing your face in a way that your nose doesn't like. You scrub at it with your knuckles, and Mituna frowns at you. "Hh-habe do... Huhh... Thdeezth," you explain, and he nods, reaching over to the tissue box again.  
  
God, at this rate, you'll need three more of those things. You are going to drown in your own snot.  
  
" _Huh_! _Hup'THIIEW_! _HhhFFPTCHUE_!" Mituna barely catches the sneezes, hand haphazardly clamped around your nose and sort of brushing over your mouth, so his wrist gets sprayed with your germy saliva. Worse than that is the fact that there's a good amount of your snot that wasn't entirely caught, and is creating a lovely stringy connection between your face and the ball of his hand. You splutter. "Fugck, 'Duda, I'b thorry. Agaid. You shou'd wash your ha'dth. _Fugck_ , I deed do thdobp sharing by fethderi'g bucuth with everybody."  
  
Mituna just wipes up with an unhappy frown, and looks back up at you like he's honestly concerned. Or maybe confused. You're not sure. It actually could be both. He looks back down at the mess of a poor tissue, before taking a hand and putting pressure on one of your cheekbones, seemingly checking for something, although you can't figure out what before the tension in your pan explodes. You flinch away and decide that you're definitely taking the next opportunity to throw yourself off your communal hive stem. It sends throbbing pain through what feels like your entire body, vision even blurring a little. It's now your turn for the distressed noises, hands coming up to your head, curling into yourself. "Biduda, _go_ _d_ _dabbid_!"  
  
Psiioniic walks back into the living area at that, quickly drying his hands off on a handtowel. "What's the matter?" he asks, crouching down next to you two, petting through your hair again. Mituna looks about ready to cry, and you suspect that you do, too.  
  
"I dod't fugcki'g dow!" you cry out, pan throbbing so much that you feel sick to your stomach. You can feel Psiioniic shift you over to look at you, and his touch immediately goes to your swollen cheeks as well, although he ghosts his fingertips over them instead of trying to cave your skull in like Mituna. Who's whimpering now, actually, and you kind of wish he'd stop.  
  
Psiionic sighs and presses his lips to your forehead, and then gathers you up, motioning for Mituna to follow. He does, hesitantly, and shuffles back into the bathroom with you, where Psii sits you back onto the counter. "Wash up," he tells Mituna, who does so while Psiioniic pulls out more medication. The rattling of pills inside of a bottle sends more unbearable pain coursing through you, and you actually don't think you could make it to the roof like this. Maybe crawling out of the window would suffice?  
  
You don't realize you're whimpering incessantly until Psiioniic gently lifts your head in his hands and murmurs, "It's okay, Sol, it's just a sinus infection. We'll get you all fixed up soon." He puts a finger to your lips and you part them, and he drops a few pills into your mouth, and then presses a glass to you lips right after. "Drink," he says, petting through your hair as you take a few mouthfuls. "Good," he says, and then gives you more medications, this time telling you that they'd make the pressure ease up.  
  
Good, because you think your head might explode.  
  
"Thii," you rasped, reaching out for him, eyes staying closed. He takes you up again, and you feel a hand that isn't his tentatively touch you, soft and flighty. "Yeah, 'Duda?" you ask, cracking your eyes open for him. Everything's blurry, and he's really nothing but a gray, black, and dirty yellow blob.  
  
"So-orry, Sol, I didn' tthhink--" he starts, and you reach down from your perch in Psiioniic's arms. You wriggle your fingers, and Mituna gets the message, taking your hand in his as you all travel back into livingroom. You hope that the gentle squeeze you give his hand is good enough placating, because you don't think you could speak without slurring your speech terribly.  
  
Psiioniic settles back onto the couch with you, and Mituna joins you both, offering Psiioniic the blanket to drape over you. You sigh as he tucks it over your shoulders, and you bring it over your head like a hood to block out the light. Psiioniic gives a warm chuckle, running his hands over your back comfortingly. After a while, he shifts and pulls back, standing with you before settling you back down on the couch. "Soup should be ready now," you hear him murmur, and Mituna takes over, tugging you to his chest again, and you hug him close, arms locked around his neck. You could cry, you feel so bad.  
  
You thank every universe's deities that neither of them are pulling out the "I Told You So" stops.  
  
Psiioniic comes back with three blows, two of which are being transported via his psionics. Mituna and you reluctantly part, and you get the bowl in Psiioniic's hands, Mituna gets one from the pair in Psii's psionics, and Psiioniic himself takes the last one. You eat very little, but Psiioniic doesn't push you to finish, just to eat what you could.  
  
After the three of you are done eating and Psiioniic finishes cleaning up, he once again joins the tangle of limbs. You're already falling asleep on Mituna again, and he holds you a bit firmer than the first time. It's okay, though, because it's keeping you grounded. (You only wish that one of them was here before, when the voices would scream so loudly at you that you'd be a writhing mess on your respiteblock floor. Of course, you had Karkat, but it's not the same as this. This is nice. You never want either of them to leave.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> C/P'd warnings from the original post:
> 
> "Language. Whoops, forgot to add that before. I'm trying to stay true to Homestuck, and, unfortunately that contains swill not suitable for youngesters' ears (eyes?).
> 
> Also, KK comes in! So there's the general warning for him. But there also comes talk of quadrants with him (the romantic fool), so there's some. Quadrant confusion? Complete disregard of said quadrants? For this part and the rest of the fic, too, I guess.
> 
> There's also the mentions of suicide/suicial tendancies and chronic depression here. And lots of insensitivity about it. Again, I cannot stress to you how much this does not reflect my own views on the matters.
> 
> Okay I think that's about it. Other than maybe a warning for mess/being generally unsanitary with said mess? But I think that's another overarching warning here."

You sleep until it's time for the next waking cycle, and you see that Mituna's stayed with you on the couch the entire time instead of going into his own respiteblock and resting in his recuperacoon. Your legs are tangled together, and when you look over your shoulder, you see that Psiioniic had actually stayed with you two, as well. He's asleep in the armchair near the couch, with a good view of both you and Mituna. You gingerly untangle yourself from your Dancestor, deciding that he's had more than enough of your germy breath for now, and leave the blanket draped over him.  
  
You feel better than you did, your pan hurting so much less than before. However, your nose is still sensitive and stuffed and it's tender now, along with your throat. You barely get out of the livingroom on your way to the bathroom when you choke out a poorly muffled cough, and it's rattling and thick. It's like you've traded in one awful symptom for another, because you have a feeling that the cough wasn't just a fluke and your body actually hates you.  
  
Said cough apparently roused Psiioniic immediately, and he looks at you now with the same concern as last waking cycle. “Sol, come back and rest,” he says quietly, probably assuming that you were headed back to your husktop.  
  
“Shud ubp, Thii, I'b jusd goi'g do pithth,” you grumble, running a hand through your mussed hair. The moment you get into the bathroom, you cringe at your reflection. Your eyes have dark, yellow-tinged shadows underneath them, and your nose is a bright yellow, an irritated giveaway to your illness, and your cheeks are tinged with yellow as well, fever keeping your skin warm and flushed. Oh, god, you can't imagine how you look to anybody else, either. You move as quickly as you can through the motions of a brief, halfassed morning routine before slipping back into your respiteblock at the end of the hall. You make it quick so as to not get Psiioniic on your ass again, and change out of your three day old clothes and into something clean and more comfortable.  
  
You shuffle back into the livingroom with a snuffle, and Psiioniic motions you over to the large armchair he's in, arms opening up for you. You nod and try not to act like you'd really love to get held right now. Your entire body aches from the fever, and your back muscles won't unwind themselves for the world. You crawl into Psiioniic's lap and sigh gently. “How are you feeling?” he asks, wrapping his arms around you.  
  
“Awful,” you mumble, and let out a couple more thick coughs that you muffle into your fist. Psii presses his lips together, holding you tighter.  
  
“If you'd listened to me--” he starts, and you narrow your eyes up at him.  
  
You were initially going to give him some scathing remark, but instead say, “I'b really dod id the bood, Thii.” He continues to frown at you. You glower back.  
  
“I hate that you don't take care of yourself, Sollux,” he says, and that takes you off guard. Sure, he's expressed his concern and care for you before, but every time he does, it about knocks your feet out from underneath you. (You don't believe that you deserve the sincere interest in your well being; it kind of makes you breathless when he reminds you. You also kind of want to cry and maybe argue with him, but you put hold on the former.)  
  
“I'b ogkay,” you say with a sniffle. “Biduda deedth you bore thad I do, I cad ha'dle bythelf.”  
  
Psiioniic seems _offended_. “Obviously you can not,” he retorts sharply.  
  
You tense and glare again. “I doogk care ob bythelf juthd fide before you cabe arou'd, jagckathth,” you snap.  
  
“Just fine my ass,” he hisses back, tugging you forward, voice kept quiet for Mituna. “You got yourself killed three times over. You'd think you'd have learned after the first time.”  
  
“I wath _thuppothed_ do die ad leasd dwithe, ogkay?” you say, trying to keep it down for 'Tuna, too.  
  
“Yeah? Well just accepting that without even blinking is one of the most telling things you've ever done,” he snaps.  
  
You balk. “...Whad are you dryi'g to inthiduade? Thad I _wadted_ do die?” You can't believe this. You can't believe that he's accusing you of that. “You wered't ebed there—you dod't _kdow_.” You jab a finger into his chest. Sure, you'd had some unsavory moments before, but when everybody else was depending upon you? And when the stakes were so high and you needed to protect your friends? You didn't enjoy or want _any_ of that.  
  
Psiioniic huffs out a heavy breath. “That's not—nevermind, Sol. Just get some more rest,” he said, moving to wrap his arms back around you. You bat them away without thought.  
  
“Oh, _fugck_ you, Thiiodiic,” you snap, pushing yourself up and out of the chair. He grabs onto your wrist.  
  
“You are not going back onto the couch and waking 'Tuna up. Suck it up and get back here,” he says. You hiss.  
  
“I'b u'der doh obligadiod do you or your Beforiad thelf here, aththhad,” you grumble.  
  
“You will _not_ resent him because of me,” Psiioniic hisses.  
  
You roll your eyes. It hurts your head, but you are making a statement on wobbly legs here. “I dod't. Bud if you wou'd thdobp bei'g so _shiddy_ —" you start.  
  
“If you would stop wallowing in your own self hate—” he interrupts.  
  
"Wallowi'g? _I'b_ wallowi'g? Whad aboud you, bithter Helbthbad? You thbpedt bodths refuthing do ebed _thpeagk_ do us!" Pulling out all of the low blows, aren't you? "Ad leasd I fudgcdiod od a _bathigc go_ _d_ _dabded level._ "  
  
"...Guyth...?" Mituna's looking at the both of you, and guilt flares in your stomach. You take the still moment to turn tail and head back into your respiteblock, door shutting none too quietly.  
  
Jegus. You couldn't feel worse physically (your head is simultaneously too light and too heavy, and your throat feels like it might start bleeding if you talk anymore today) and now you feel like the world's biggest asshole.   
  
Not that you aren't.  
  
You hadn't meant to say those things— _especially_ those things. You hadn't meant to hurt Psiioniic, or wake and concern Mituna, or create such tension when you still wanted nothing but their comfort. You've made a big mess, and you're not sure how to fix it, or even if your pride will let you. At that, you take your husktop from its perch on your desk and plug it into the outlet near your pile, knowing exactly who you're going to go to with this. You snuffle thickly as you pull up Trollian and start a conversation with Karkat.   
  
\-- twinArmageddons [TA] began trolling carcinoGeneticist [CG] \--   
  
TA: KK.   
TA: II thiink II fucked thiing2 up wiith my ance2tor.   
CG: OH SHUT UP YOU MELODRAMATIC FUCKWIT   
CG: WHAT DID YOU DO.   
CG: AND WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN.   
CG: YOU HAVEN'T ANSWERED ANYBODY IN DAYS.   
TA: that2 part of the problem.   
TA: I I m 2i ick.   
CG: OH GOD   
CG: YOUR FEVERED OVERSENSITIVE WRITHING BITCHSHIT SELF SAID SOMETHING AWFUL AGAIN.   
CG: AND NOW YOU'RE SNIVELING OVER IT LIKE A BRAINLESS WRIGGLER.   
CG: AREN'T YOU.   
TA: fuck you, KK   
CG: WHAT DID YOU DO.   
TA: II saiid   
TA: uniimportant thiing2 about hii2 Helm2man2hiip   
TA: what matter2 ii 2 that II may have  pii22ed hiim off i irrecoverably   
CG: FIRST OF ALL.   
CG: WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT.   
TA: II dont know   
TA: iit ju2t happened   
CG: WHAT KIND OF FUCKING FEVER IS COOKING YOUR PAN YOU REPULSIVE WHINING IMBECILE.   
TA: KK   
TA: IIm 2eriiou2   
CG: SO AM I.   
CG: I CAN'T FATHOM WHY YOU WOULD DO SOMETHING SO VASTLY INCONSICERATE.   
CG: EVEN FOR YOU.   
TA: KK, plea2e.   
CG: WHAT?   
CG: ...   
CG: GOD.   
CG: YOU'RE ACTUALLY UPSET ABOUT THIS, AREN'T YOU.   
TA: ...   
CG: WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU SHOWERED.   
CG: OR TOOK CARE OF YOURSELF.   
CG: YOU FUCKING DEPRESSIVE PIECE OF SHIT.   
CG: I'M COMING OVER.   
  
\-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] ceased trolling twinArmageddons [TA] \--   
  
TA: fuck, no, dont come over.   
TA: KK.   
TA: karkat.   
TA: goddammi it.   
  
You scrub a hand down your face and sink deeper into your pile, curling around yourself. This is terrible. _You_ are terrible. God, why would you say those things. And then drag your best friend into it, too. What does he think he's going to accomplish by coming over here anyways? Running into your irate Ancestor? And maybe your Dancestor throwing another fit? Or has he finally decided to wax pale for you? (Like you two haven't _already_ been sticking your noses into every one of the other's quadrants like a couple of desperate fools. But whatever.)    
  
You pull down the hem of your sweatshirt sleeve and wipe at your nose as you tuck yourself further into a sniveling wreck amongst the computer parts of your pile. You flip the hood up and turn away from the door to your respiteblock and anxiously await the oncoming storm of absolute bullshit you're going to have to deal with. (In the meantime, though, you find yourself wheezing in between coughing fits and dozing in and out, chest still tight and cold and restricting for something other than the tickle there.)    
  
You don't look forward to any of this.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Warnings for this chapter include more goddamn ableism, cursing, prominent troll incest, kismesissitude, Karkat and his damned quadrants, mentions of PTSD, mentions of panic attacks, srs feelings re: Sol's deaths, romance confusion, food issues, depression, and I really should've typed this all in Kank's quirk because I'm an asshole.
> 
> No, okay. Seriously, take whichever of those warnings as seriously as you need to. Police yourselves, goddammit.
> 
> Also. I think I need to type up my excuse/explanation as to why KK's kind of OOC here. Because this is post-game, and I like to think that Karkat's capable of maturation, he's done just that. Sort of. Also. This has nothing to do with him getting older, but I tend to think that, despite his gratuitus walls of grey text, he doesn't actually talk much in real life. He's kind of. Kept himself holed away as a form of protection for so long that he's much more used to not saying anything at all, and when it comes to socializing, everything's a little rusty outside of the people he knows and cares for. Idk maybe that's shit. but whatever. You're getting this thing anyways, because I'm fed up with it."

> Sollux: Be Karkat  
  
  
After a bit of traveling, you end up in the hallways of Sollux's hive stem, standing at his door. Normally, you would just barge in like the inconsiderate best friend you are, but you've been told that he's housing both his Dancestor and his Ancestor with him now, like most of the other trolls. So, naturally, you think better of just walking in, lest you run into something you might not want to see.   
  
You rap on the door like it's one of the most awkward things you've ever done.  
  
You're greeted with a troll that looks almost exactly like Sollux, only taller, and more... Worn. He raises a brow at you. Apparently your incredibly incompetent friend decided not to let anybody know you were headed over. Wonderful. “Sollux?” he asks, and seems to lack the lisp that both Sollux and Mituna share.  
  
“Yeah,” you say, and he hesitates before letting you in. You attempt to go through their hive without any unsolicited run-ins with Sollux's Dancestor. It's not because you don't like him, or because his... Situation puts you off (it kind of does though), but moreso because he is an example of a possible outcome that Sollux could have had when he burnt out his psionics (not that you prefered the outcome you got), and because he keeps forgetting who you are, and talks to you like you're Kankri. It's a little more offputting than his voice and his yelling, actually. It also doesn't help that The Psiioniic looked at you like he'd seen a ghost from the past, but couldn't place it. It only lasted for a brief, startled moment, but you're far from absentminded, and you'd noticed. You know you look like them, and while that's a given, it always seems to shock them.  
  
You're just turning into the hallway when you hear Mituna pop up from the couch, and you try not to look too pained to interact with him when he starts talking. “Kanks—oh.” At least his caught himself this time. Although the physical wilt he goes into is a little difficult to watch without incredible pity leaking into you. “Thorry. I didn'th—uh. Didn'th rea—rrre _aaugh!_ ” You shift on your feet, impatient to leave.  
  
“It's okay,” is all you give, before absconding. Psiioniic tends to him, and you're glad he doesn't throw an actual fit, like the ones Sollux has told you about before. Speaking of said nooksucking scumfilth, he apparently still seems content to lay in that massive pile of hard plastic and wires, and you still can't fathom why. “Sollux, get your pathetic ass up,” you say, loud enough to rouse him.  
  
He's roused, alright. He flails and jerks upright, falling into a wet, sputtering cough right afterwards. You grimace and kneel next to him, patting him on the back. “Whoa, okay. You didn't tell me you were dying, jegus christ,” you say, brows furrowed. He's pale, a pallor that contrasts with his hair in the most pumper-wrenching way, and the only touch of color on his face is his fevered flush, and the rubbed-raw nostrils that also happen to be leaking copius amounts of this incredibly unhealthy looking dark yellow snot. You grab a discarded shirt that only looks half as dirty as the rest laying around you, and wipe at his nose and upper lip, scowling. “You're a goddamned disaster,” you grumble, sweeping his sweaty hair out of his face, eyes narrowing some at his his hazy stare back. “Are you even fucking coherent?” you ask, shaking his shoulder some. When that doesn't work, you pop him on the cheek, and that only gets your stomach knotted up when all he manages to give you as response is a grunt that raises a crackling noise in his chest.  
  
Okay.  
  
You hook your hands underneath his arms and haul him upwards, tossing him over your shoulder, wobbling some. God, he's too tall for you to be doing this nonsense for him. He's getting unsurprisingly light again, probably because he hasn't been remembering to eat during this extended depressive swing. Color you unsur-fucking-prised.  
  
You carry him into the bathroom and set him on the load gaper, before peeking your head out into the hall. “I'm getting this corporal tragedy into the ablution trap,” you let them know.  
  
You get a, “Be careful, please,” in return, and retreat back into the ablution block. You manhandle him out of the clothes he's in, and they seem clean—he probably just threw them on after shedding the ones he'd no doubt been wearing for a week, only to repeat the cycle in these. And hadn't even showered in between, either.   
  
“Get your wriggling, incompetent ass into the trap,” you grumble once he's naked, and you nudge him gently over to the trap. He shuffles over like the floor itself is shifting underneath his feet, which might not be a bad approximation to what that fever's doing to him right now. He's definitely not getting a warm shower anytime soon.  
  
You get him settled into the tub before running some cool water and grabbing the ablution sprayer, flicking it on and splashing him in the face once to wake him some. He jerks back into vague awareness, coughing roughly, and you bend him forward and thump him on the back until it passes, and then lean him back again. He turns his head and looks at you blearily.  
  
“Hey, KK,” he rasps. You look over to him, lips pursed together in concern.   
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Did—did we bagke id...? Are we—here?” Your stomach folds into itself, pumper hammering hard in your chest. No.  
  
“Sollux,” you say, voice wavering minutely. “Sollux, snap out of it.” You slap him gently again.  
  
“ _Did we bagke id_ ,” he presses, and now he looks like he might be tearing up. No. Fuck, no.  
  
“Sol—”  
  
“Did we,” he begs.  
  
Everything inside you crumbles. “Yeah. We made it. You did it, Sollux, you got us here.” You've given into his nonsense, now it's time for him to come back.  
  
He doesn't.  
  
“That'th—that'th gread, bro...” God, fuck you. Fuck him. Fuck your entire lives up until this point.   
  
You just swallow down your tears despite the fact that your throat feels like it's going to close up. “Yeah,” you rasp, tilting his sweaty head back and wetting his hair, combing your fingers through knots gently. He closes his eyes and relaxes into your touches, going slack, and that makes your pusher try to break out of your chest. Why does the universe still have to fuck all of you over, even now? With moments like this, things that mirror the terrors you went through and send you into a mindspace that's not safe for anybody to be back in. (You distinctly remember accidentally triggering a panic attack in Terezi one day by sneaking up on her, even though you have some of the same anxieties. You hadn't mean to. You can't even touch your friends without some part of them crumbling back into the game. It's simply not fair.)  
  
You get Sollux washed up with the most tender and thorough touches your shaky hands can manage, before rinsing him off and sitting back on your heels. You sigh and run your wet hands over your face, roughly scrubbing away the red tears that have welled up in your eyes. Fuck. “Can you get up?” you ask, but Sollux just grunts at you again. At least he's not being a living flashback again. You take a fresh, fluffy towel and heave him upright again, and once he's standing on his own two feet, you towel dry his hair, gentle around the horns. “If you bone up right now, I will knock your overgrown fangs right back down your throat,” you warn, but he just slumps forwards, face tucked into your neck. Which is a bit of an accomplishment, since you're having to stand on your toes just to get to the top of his head. He's gotten ridiculously tall, and all you've done is gain muscle and bulk out. Which isn't exactly an unfair trade, but you'd still rather him be a bit shorter again, with the little layer of healthy fat over his bones.   
  
All of that's gone now, and he's taller and bonier than ever, and you're kind of afraid that he will never regain a stable routine of taking care of himself again. Before, he'd at least eat when he was hungry. Now, he can go days without food and claim to have been too spaced out to notice he was hungry, and be completely genuine in his defense. The others _have_ to be doing something about this, right? You're sure that Psiioniic could employ Mituna to bug Sollux into eating. At _least_ once a day.  
  
You go to grab at him, gear up to force him back into his clothes, because he's begun to shiver now and is goosefleshed, but that's so much better to see and feel than the hazy heat he was scorching under before. Thank everything in this multiverse for ice baths. But, instead of becoming a dead weight or just being difficult, Sollux tenses against you, and you smooth a hand down his bony spine. "Hey," you start, but you're soon cut off.  
  
"H-huh! HeehhGTHXH'ue! HuhRRPHSHuh!"  
  
Oh for the love of all things left sacred in this multiverse.  
  
He always sneezes twice, and he never keeps it to himself. He's like a goddamned wriggler, sniveling and dripping his snot everywhere, and he hasn't gotten any better, apparently.  
  
"I will rip your blithering, mucus filled ass to shreds if you do that again." He just snuffles and murmurs,  
  
"Thorry, KK..." You grit your teeth and try not to think about how, if he wasn't feeling so bad, he would've snapped right back at you. He doesn't, and you're left gently drying him off. You want to get some fever reducers in him, because you know that the effects of the shower aren't going to last forever, but you don't know where to find it if he even has any, and you don't think that you'll get an intelligent answer out of him any time soon. Whatever this is, it's kicking his skinny rump and you really want to kick it _for_ the virus, because _how could he let himself get this bad_. You wrestle him into the clothing he was in before—a thin, worn tee shirt, and a yellow pullover with black sleeves and a front pocket that was striped like a bee. That's horrendous, he should get his ass kicked just for that. Next comes boxers and the fleecy pajama bottoms he'd had on, also yellow and black, but in plaid. Who the fuck is buying his clothes?  
  
You smooth a hand over his damp hair, squeezing the ends in the edge of the towel absentmindedly. “Stay right here, dumbass,” you tell him, taking the towel with you, drying your hands as you search out The Psiioniic. You find him in the kitchen, sitting at the table with Mituna, who's scarfing down a bowl of human cereal. You clear your throat, jerking a thumb over your shoulder. “He needs some fever reducers. Do you have any?”  
  
The Psiioniic looks up from his own breakfast. “Yeah, under the basin,” he tells you, standing. “Is he still upset?” he asks, with such blatant concern that it makes you a little uncomfortable. (It also makes you wonder if Beforians were so open with how they felt, and if they often felt things for others that 'transcended quadrants,' as the Signless told you, once, or if it was just the rebels that loved and felt like that. “Ith—is he _okay_?” Correction of your earlier assumption: He, apparently, has only partial control of his lisp. You figure Sollux might be jealous of that. He probably is.  
  
You've been spending too much time with Kankri.  
  
“Yeah,” you say, bundling the damp towel in your arms. “He's okay,” you say. “And I don't think he's upset with you. He thinks you're upset with him.”  
  
That seems to surprise him. Mituna looks up at that, and he looks just as concerned as The Psiioniic does. These two are supposed to be the same person, right? Well they've got the facial expressions down pat. “I'm not upset, I—” The Psiioniic says, before a dull thudding noise comes from their bathroom. Jegus.  
  
Psiioniic is practically sprinting past you by the time you've even turned around, and Mituna is out of his chair just as fast, the seat clattering to the floor behind him. He stills, though, not sure if he should follow. You do, though, and leave him there. He'll figure it out if he wants to follow or not. When you get back to the bathroom, Sollux's face is being cradled in The Psiioniic's hands, and he's being shifted into the older troll's lap with his psionics.   
  
“Are you okay? Did you hit your head?” he asks, hands traveling up to Sollux's hair, carding through it with near-frantic movements. “Tholluth Captor, thay thomething,” he breathes, popping (papping, maybe?) the other on the cheek.  
  
“Thtobp pabppi'g be id the fathe,” he grumbles. “I juth thlibpped...” The Psiioniic pulls Sollux to his chest, and you're not exactly sure what you're witnessing here. Could it be that the three of them are engaging in some sort of mixed romance? You purse your lips together, and push down the quick bout of vague repulsion. You're not exactly positive why—there isn't really any set taboo in either the Beforian or Alternian societies that forbids dating your relatives in any quadrant. Besides, troll reproduction is primarily clonal, and the majority of peoples' relatives are either dead by the time that they're hatched, or the concerned trolls just don't know of them. But this whole game has messed with the sequences of progeny here. So you're all living with two other trolls of your lineage, and given the circumstances, you don't think that this is very surprising, actually. Even though it's a little weird. You have realize, then, that the initial disgust you experienced is due to the humans and their influence, and feel a little bad. You don't really have anybody besides Sollux at this point, anyways, so who are you to say anything?  
  
You watch as the Psiioniic gives Sollux the fever reducers, and almost feel like you're intruding on an intimate moment. It passes, though, when jealousy flares up in your gut. Sollux is supposed to be your sometimes-pale-sometimes-flushed-sometimes-caliginous partner, not anybody else's. Besides, are you even allowed to have multiple people in the same quadrant? Is that even fair?  
  
The Psiioniic turns around, then, and you belatedly realize that you were giving off _jealousy_ in metaphorical waves. “Would you like to stay with him on the couch while I fix him some breakfast...?” he offers, and that hits you like a brick wall. What? So now you're all going to pass him around like the grubloaf at a Twelfth Perigee dinner?  
  
You say yes anyways.  
  
The Psiioniic nods, and grabs another medication from the stock that you can only assume that _he_ put together, because Sollux would never. He carries Sollux, who is close to falling asleep again, what with all of the scalp-scritching that The Psiioniic is doing, back into the livingroom and settles him onto the couch gently. “Have you eaten anything?” he asks you, and you hesitate to answer as you sit next to Sollux and tug his him down until he's resting in your lap.   
  
“...No. Signless was cooking when I bailed,” you say, keeping your eyes on Sollux as you mindlessly fix his part for him.  
  
“I'll make you something, too, then,” he says, and you frown down at Sollux. Okay, so maybe he's not expressing romantic feelings towards Sollux after all. Maybe he's like this with everybody. (The Signless, you know, is strangely open and caring with everybody, too, and you're thinking that maybe it has something to do with the differences in Beforian and Alternian cultures, and the way the rebels lived. You don't know, and don't really want to think about it, either. It's a lot for your pan this early, and you didn't even sleep last night. (One thing you do know, though, is that Signless isn't as... Affectionate? Loving? With you, and he's still pretty damned caring, so maybe there is something between these two? Or three. You don't even know anymore.)  
  
Sollux waits until The Psiioniic leaves to say something. “You jelouthy ridded wriggler,” he says, smiling some at you, a flash of overgrown fangs and yellowish gums. You roll your eyes.  
  
“Go fuck yourself, Captor. Like I want anything to do with your inter-relational pailing ass.”  
  
Sollux almost chokes. “We'be dever _pailed_ ,” he defends, snuffling.   
  
You raise a brow. “You want to, though, right?” He looks away, glancing at the arch that leads to kitchen briefly. “Oh my god, you totally do. You want to fuck your Ancestor. Sollux, holy shit.” He elbows you, hissing.  
  
“Shud ubp, Vad'ath. Dothi'g's goin'g od bedweed us,” he says.  
  
You don't exactly believe him. “Except that you and he act like 'rails? Or maybe flushed 'rails? Christ, Sol, how thin are you going to stretch yourself?” You don't say it with any venom, or disappointment. “Besides, I thought that we were—”  
  
“—We are,” he interrupts.   
  
“But you two are...?” you ask, implying.  
  
“Well, dod—”  
  
“You _three_ are...?”  
  
“Uh.”  
  
“I can't believe you. You have the greediest fucking nook out there.” Okay, so this will take some getting used to.  
  
“Bud we're sdill...?” he says tentatively.  
  
“Depends,” you say, raising a brow down at him. “Are any of you caliginous?”  
  
His face crumples, thinking. “I dod't _thigk_ tho.”   
  
You grin down at him, leaning a little closer, hand slipping up his shirt. Your claws dig gently into his stomach as you breathe, “Then that quadrant's exclusively _mine_.” He chokes off any noises he would've made and just nods, and you soothe the irritated flesh on his stomach with gentle pets, smiling gently to yourself. You can share Sollux like this, so long as you have him all to your own in one way or another.  
  
So you're a little possessive. But after everything you lost before, can anybody really blame you?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "More warnings for this installment: Self harm, Mituna being a great big perv, talk of bulges, kink characters (I can't seem to help myself??), mess, crude language, more barely intelligible congested talk from Sol, and more Solkat. Nothing explicit, though. "
> 
> If you hadn't noticed before, this is all self indulgent kinkfic, sorry

>Karkat: Be Sollux   
  
  
Alright, so that was a little weird, admitting to Karkat that you may be engaging in some sort of quadrant roundabout with your relations. But really, you haven't even pailed with either of them, so you would say that it's pretty harmless at this point. And you're not even sure that either of them share your feelings, so you'd say that everything is fine, for the most part. Also, your head is still pretty fuzzy with the fever spike from earlier, and you feel... Almost disconnected from yourself, so you could play it off later if need be.    
  
After your pusher seems to have calmed from Karkat's sudden act of caliginous possessiveness, you turn to face his stomach, burying your nose in his lower belly. “You pop a wriggly righd dow, Vad'as, and you're dever geddi'g this doogk agaid,” you mutter, and he just laughs at you, hand entangling itself into your hair and scritching at the skin around the base of your horns. You muffle a groan into the plush of his pullover.   
  
“What was that about popping wrigglies?” he asks, chuckling. You pinch him hard on the side, and he tugs roughly at your hair. You're about to bite this fucker when Psiioniic calls.   
  
“Cool it, you two! Come eat,” he says, arms crossed over his chest as he leans in the doorway, unimpressed. Karkat tenses only minutely, before hauling you off of him and almost dropping you to your feet again. You don't exactly stay there, either. The floor beneath you swims, and your head is much too light, and all you can see is blotches (or maybe they're splatters?) of fuzzy, dripping color. You don't hit the ground like you're expecting, though, because Karkat's got you under the arms, and you can feel psionic energy crackling through you and keeping Karkat's arms strong, even though he doesn't really need the assist anymore. The frantic moment is over and Psii gently releases you both, and Karkat takes it upon himself to carry you into the kitchen. You don't protest, and just hug your body close to his, ankles locked around his middle. You can practically feel the eyebrow raising going on as Karkat settles you down, keeping his hands on you as you sit down carefully into a chair at the table. Karkat goes over to where Psiioniic has set up a plate for him, just across from where you'd collapsed. He slides your plate towards himself and dumps a good portion of his own food onto your plate.  
  
"Eat," he says, shoving it back over to you. You want to argue, but that's the voice he always used to use, back... Then. And it leaves little room for your objection. You take the plate and slowly begin eating, snuffling thickly through it. Eventually, Mituna, who's beside you, hands you a tissue and leans over into your space.  
  
"Tho. Are you two—?" he asks, and waggles his eyebrows at you. Dear god.  
  
"We dod't kdow whad we are," you huff back, taking the tissue with a weak glower that you can only hope is focused on him. Everything's going double right now. You're too tired to be awake.  
  
"That'th cool," Mituna says conversationally. "You thwo pail eathch other yet?" he asks, making an 'unsheathed bulge' hand motion that only even resembles it in the most crude of ways. Karkat sputters from across the table, and you don't think your face could get any more yellow.  
  
Psiioniic waves a hand in your direction. "That's enough, 'Tuna," he says, sipping at a mug of what you could only guess is the human coffee that Dave introduced to all of you. It's terrible, but Psii seems to like the bitter crap. "They'll pail when they're ready." He hides a smirk behind the mug. Oh no, not this. You didn't even think that Psii was capable of this.  
  
Karkat practically snarls into his piece of toast. Mituna has the audacity to snort at him. You can't believe they're using now— _now_ , when you're barely coherent through fever—to pick on you and embarrass both you and Karkat. It's playful, sure, but they could have better timing, at least.  
  
Your nose thankfully (or not so much) takes the attention away from Karkat's aggressive eating as you hitch. "Hiihh... Uh—! HuuhPTHHHchue! EehhschKEW!" You manage to clamp the tissue that Mituna gave you a moment earlier over you nose and mouth before the explosions shake you. They make your pan throb, and your sinuses ache.  
  
Mituna grabs another and lifts your chin up, swiping the tissue underneath your nose. "You're pretthy cute like thith," he says, and you find that your pan aches too much to fight him. All you can do is frown confusedly at him, dazed. Psiioniic scoffs into his coffee.  
  
"Don't start that now, Mituna," Psii says, huffing. You glance over to him, and see he's tinging yellow. What the hell is even going on. You turn away from Mituna and his hold and shoot Karkat a look. He shrugs and gives you his best, "I don't fucking know" look. You purse your lips and try to eat as quickly as you can manage. Karkat's already finished his depleted meal, and Psiioniic is refilling his plate and handing a glass of human milk to you, since none of your lusii came back with you, and even if they had, you still wouldn't be drinking any milk from them. It's almost startling how much human food you eat after the universes remixed. (Psii even uses a human bed that's so soft that it's near impossible not to sink into. You love it, but you're not sure which of the kids hooked him up with it.)  
  
You look at the glass uncertainly—you've had milk like this in the meal vault before, but you'd never gone to get a glass. This one is warmed and vaguely sweet and you have to remind yourself that you have human honey now and Psiioniic would never give you anything that would hurt you. "Ith'll help with your thh... tthhkgh—rrgh! ...Throat," Mituna struggles, and looks nearly ashamed in his frustration. You have to take his wrist the next moment, because he's back to hurting himself when he's upset. He's trying to dig his claws into his palm, but forcing yours in between his fingers and hand stops him in his tracks.   
  
“Dod't do thad,” you mutter, and the two of you linger like that until Karkat kicks you from underneath the table. You glare at him from over your nutrition plateau, and all he does is shrug and give you a toothy grin. Piece of shit. You try to finish your meal, but only get about two thirds of the way through before you start nodding off, and get only a handful of more bites in after that, before Karkat claims to be tired of watching your pitiful ass fall asleep into your food. “Go fugck yourthelf, Vad'ath,” you grumble, wiping your nose on the back of your hand again.    
  
You stand, and he stands with you, scoffing. “God, that's so gross and you know it,” he grumbles, handing both of your plates to Psiioniic, who offered to take them.    
  
“Yeah, it'th kinda _nathty_ , eheh,” Mituna says, grinning up at you from his chair. Psiioniic sputters, tossing a dry rag at him, hitting him in the back of the head.  
  
“I thought I told you to cut that out,” he says, lips pursed together unhappily. But you can't help but notice how _yellow_ he is in the face.   
  
Oh, god, is that what's going on here? This could arguably be worse than having a kink for getting your wastechute fucked.   
  
You turn around a head to the livingroom on wobbly feet. This isn't a thing you want Karkat to sink his romance-prying claws into right now. Not now, and probably not ever, because you can't believe that all three of you share the same kink.   
  
Not that it's exactly surprising, giving all of the other striking similarities. But this is getting absurd.    
  
Karkat follows you back into the livingroom and frowns at you when he settles next to you again. “What the fuck was that—?” he asks, and you just shrug, looking back towards the kitchen nervously. Oh man. This is so messed, you can't believe this. “Sol, seriously, you look like you're gonna fucking implode, you grubfisting piece of shit,” he says, jerking you back around to face him. He narrows his eyes at you, looking you over critically.    
  
“Id'th dothi'g, KK,” you mutter, eyes shifting around the room uneasily. He growls low and soft, frustrated.   
  
“Obviously not, you insipid nookchafer,” he grunts.   
  
“Theriouthly, id'th jutht—” He raises an unamused brow at you, and you sigh. “Fide, fide, jutht. Jethuth you're a pryi'g athhole, you kdow thad?” He rolls his eyes and scoffs, but before he can gear up to spit something else at you, you wave a dismissive hand at him. He looks both undignified and ragehappy at that. He almost looks like he's ready to bite down on the hand you've just waved in his face. Oh well. “Id'th—I thigk... They bighd have the. You kdow.” You don't exactly want to say it, lest it be true.   
  
Karkat pinches you hard again. “Fuck, no, I don't know, you dumbfuck. Spit it out already, jegus.”   
  
You swat his hand away from your sides, huffing. “The... The kidgk. Thi'g. Thad I habe.” You're yellow all over at this point, and Karkat takes just a moment of blankness before grinning, toothy and entire too goddamned pleased for your comfort. He scoffs a laugh, still fucking smiling. He thinks this is goddamned funny.   
  
“God, Sollux, I'd completely forgotten about that,” he says. “You're serious?” You just roll your eyes and look away. “Man, you lot are bringing a whole new meaning to that apple and tree bullshit,” he says, and you just sink further into the couch. He sighs and scoots closer to you, tugging you to him. “Okay, fine, you moody asshat, why are you so upset about this? Isn't it good news or something for your fetish-ridden nook? Shouldn't you be fucking ecstatic?”  
  
You shrug. “I bead... Id _ith_ kind of... Therendipitouth.”   
  
Karkat nods. “Exactly. So get over yourself and stop trying to say words like 'serendipitous.'”   
  
You elbow him weakly, and shift a little closer to his heat. He's always been so damn warm—he's like your own personal furnace on cold nights. When it's warmer, it's a little more uncomfortable, but you both deal. “Go fugck yourthelf,” you grumble, and he just pulls you close, fingers threading into your hair.    
  
“Shut the fuck up and go back to sleep,” he mutters, reclining with you in his hold, and you have an extremely hard time seeing as to why you shouldn't, so you allow yourself the rest for once.   
  
He seems grateful that you hadn't argued, and just squeezes you tighter. Yeah, he's pretty great for a cranky asshole.


End file.
